


The Mountie Hunter

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-24
Updated: 1999-02-24
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A Mountie Hunter embarks on a quest to get his man.





	The Mountie Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Mountie Hunter

Much to my delight, a line from this story was quoted in Canada's _Elm Street_ magazine (October 1997) in Veronica Cusack's interview with Paul Gross. It has to do with the color of the Mountie's eyes... 

**M/m, PWP, rated R for "randy"**

#  The Mountie Hunter

**by** **Rupert Rouge**

* * *

You can't escape me, you know. 

I've tracked you before, remember? And it was on your own turf, too--the Territories. I tracked you to your lair, Mountie, you who seem more wolf than man. There, in that snow country, I cornered you. I'm the Mountie hunter, and I always get my man. 

But now we're on my turf, Mountie, and you know I'm stalking you. You have that sixth sense that warns you when danger threatens. You've fled the fate you know awaits you when we meet again. I arrive at your den just a minute too late: the metal treads of the fire escape still vibrate from the force of your booted feet as you--sensing my arrival--jumped out of your kitchen window. 

I'll find you. I'll bring you in, never fear. I know this city better than anyone, I who have lived here all my life. As you know the frozen peaks and lakes of the snow country of your birth, so do I know the mean streets, the alleys, the stews where lurk the bottom-feeders of the night. 

I saw a flash of red disappearing around the corner a second ago: oh, you're so easy to track, you one-of-a-kind, you Mountie, you. Now we're in a park. Don't be ridiculous: you'll stand out like a fire engine in all this green-sleeved splendor. Do you really think I'll overlook you here? 

H'm, it seems you've managed to elude me after all. The park is empty of people at this hour. It's two in the afternoon: too early for the school children to be out yet, nap time for the very young, too hot for the very old. I see nothing but trees, park benches, and grass. 

I half-turn, to scan a patch of undergrowth at the western side of the park and from the corner of my eye I catch a flicker of movement to the right. Oh, you thought you'd fool me, didn't you? It's that old Ninja trick: you stand so still that I think you're a tree. You think tree thoughts; you _become_ the tree, so I don't see you. 

You didn't think I knew about that, did you? But I do. I know the way you think. And I know where you're headed. 

I'm as fleet of foot as you. Leaner than you, too, I don't let myself eat the kind of things you eat. (After all, I'm not trying to fend off the accumulated cold of a lifetime in the North.) I have no problem racing after you. 

I'm gaining on you. You're sprinting down the shabby street, disappearing into the doorway of a tenement building. You bound up the stairs: seconds ahead of me, you wrench open the nearest door, dive through it, slam it shut. 

I kick it open. 

I've cornered you. Yes, I've got you now. What? You're putting your hands up in surrender? 

We're inches apart, I'm coming closer to you every second. You're looking at me, with those eyes as blue as dusk on a winter afternoon. And in your eyes I see...what? 

Your lips are parting, as if to plead with me to let you go. But I have no intention of letting you go. 

You just gasped as you felt my hands at your throat, tugging at those stupid brass buttons on your tunic. I'm looking straight into your eyes: you can see the intent blazing in mine. 

You don't even try to resist as I set about turning you from a Mountie into a mere man. Now you stand before me wearing nothing but your shorts. 

I feel the heat of your bare skin against the cool silk of my own garments, I feel your heart beating powerfully against my own. Your lips part under mine, as I kiss you so hard that you whimper, helpless in my embrace. 

You wanted to be caught, didn't you? You wanted to give yourself to me in this sweet surrender, didn't you? 

It's taken only a few seconds for me to slide out of my clothes; and now I'm hooking my fingers in the waistband of your shorts, wrenching them off so I can claim what is rightfully mine. 

The hunter eats the hunted: that's the way it's supposed to work, isn't it? I'm taking you into my mouth, my wild one, tasting your male flavor. I suck, you cry out when you come: the taste of you is faintly acrid on my tongue, but it's you, and therefore sweet. I swallow: your cum becomes part of me, so we, hunter and hunted, are truly one. 

Those long legs of yours are trembling now with reaction, they won't hold you up any more: now you're sliding down the wall, to land in a warm and willing tangle at my feet. And now I'm down on the floor with you, taking you in my arms, my greedy hands leaving fingerprints on your moist skin as I kiss every inch of your beloved self. I brush my lips across your thick hair, now curling from the dampness of our combined sweat: I murmur your name as I put my mouth to your ear. 

You're grasping my back of my shoulders with your fingertips, squeezing the skin because now you're writhing beneath me, out of control; you're moaning now, in that husky baritone--you can barely say my name, because now I'm inside you, in the delicious hot tightness of your beautiful ass. I can feel you contracting around my own hardness, stripping it of the hot, thick man-essence within. And now it's my turn to grip the smooth-muscled flesh of your back with my fingertips and call on all the gods, yours and mine combined, because a tidal wave is tearing me apart and spilling over you. 

Those thick chestnut eyelashes are resting against your cheeks, but I make you open your eyes and look at me: it's time for you to capitulate. 

"Have I won?" I ask. 

You exhale in a soft breath of laughter. "You've got me. You've got me till the end of time." 

I'm the Mountie hunter, and I always get my man. 

****

The End  


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This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. No infringement of any copyrights held by list producers, production company, or any others, is intended. This story is not published for profit and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Comments welcome at. 

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